


like you were dying

by Toast_Senpai



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-15 14:37:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16935105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toast_Senpai/pseuds/Toast_Senpai
Summary: Just when Arthur thought he’d gotten away from it all, he meets Dutch. He sure hadn’t been looking for trouble, but it found him anyway.





	1. Encounter

As soon as the temperature rose and shook off the last of the spring chill, business picked up again. Arthur woke early to make sure everything was in order and that he had enough stock. He wrote down what he was getting low on, like fine tip pens and some of the smaller sketch pads. He’d finally made it a year living in Galena, and all was going smoothly.

A rough beginning it had been though, starting his own little business. _Cowpoke_ wasn’t anything special. It was an art supply store that also sold a few of the local artists’ work. Of course he wasn’t the only place on South Main Street that had such items for sale. But Arthur tried to keep his prices low and his attitude positive. He didn’t think himself the most social of men, but he sure tried.

A couple more minutes until opening. Arthur wiped down the counter and checked that he had enough change in the register. He liked it here in this town, where it was quiet. Right next to the river too, and he’d done a bit of fishing on his days off. The easy life. A better one. The Midwest was treating him kinder than the South ever had.

It wasn’t the busiest Tuesday, but Arthur couldn’t complain. He sold a landscape painting that he had been thinking about returning to the artist with an apology. It was never boring here; people came from states away. At first Arthur didn’t get it. Why bother coming to the west, when Chicago was all the way east? As the months went on, Arthur finally understood.

Peaceful. That was one word for it. And friendly, too. Barely any crime. Neighbors actually talked to each other. The shops all sold local goods like wine from Stone Cliff and cheese from Wisconsin. There were plenty of ghost tours and the home of Ulysses S. Grant. Arthur got it. He really did. And he _enjoyed_ it.

Completely different than Grandfield. Oklahoma had been mean to him, even if he had been born and raised there. He’d been all too happy to leave it behind. No one there had cared about him. Not about his family or his hobbies or his interests. A few had tried, Arthur guessed. Had made an attempt to like him. But never had it ended well.

There was no forgetting any of that either. Arthur shook himself out of his thoughts when a small girl placed a pack of bright highlighters on the counter along with a few wrinkled dollars. He smiled at her and didn’t bother ringing the item up. She took it with a quiet thanks before going back to her mother.

Yes, _this_ he preferred over the past. To hell with those people. They can stay backwards and selfish for the rest of their lives for all he cared. Arthur had better things to do to and a better life to live.

* * *

Around closing, a man came into the shop. Arthur had been about ready to lock the door since he hadn’t had any customers for a while and thought it wouldn’t hurt to finish a little early for once.

But now he had to wait, so Arthur sat on the stool behind the counter and flipped through one of the brochures for the Historical Society someone had left behind. If the man wasn’t gone in ten minutes, he’d politely ask him to leave.

Arthur half watched the man who had a thick, well-kept mustache and was wearing a black Texas Rangers baseball cap. He didn’t exactly look like the artsy type, but Arthur wasn’t one to judge. He’d met a lot of secret hobbyists. Arthur himself was sort of one, and he was sure he didn’t look the part.

The man stood near the store front windows, peering out of them and into the streets bathed in sunset. It was almost eight. Arthur wanted to swing by Big Bill’s to get a sandwich. He usually bought lunch but today he had forgotten. He blamed the muggy weather. It made it hard to think. He wasn’t used to it yet and probably wouldn’t be for a long while.

“Lookin’ for anything in particular, sir?” Arthur asked after his stomach gave a painful twist, accompanied by a grumble. He hoped he didn’t sound rude.

The man turned from the windows and faced Arthur. His stance was squared, shoulders raised just so with his thumbs hooked into his pockets. Arthur couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking down the whole length of this man, noticing a slight bulge on the outside of his right jean-covered thigh.

Arthur knew what was there, and didn’t like it one bit.

“Can’t say I am,” the man drawled with a smile.

The accent hit Arthur hard. It sounded like his old home, if he could even call it that. The soothing twang of it that he rarely heard while living up North. The slow roll of the words dipping into one another. It set Arthur on edge.

The man came forward, steps even until he was in front of the counter. He was only slightly taller than Arthur.  

Arthur’s old habits had yet to die. He knew exactly where he kept his own pistol and that it would only take three seconds to grab it and fire. Not that he planned to ever kill anyone… not unless he had to.

Dark eyes, and a beauty mark high on his left cheek. Under any other circumstances Arthur would find the man attractive. The navy T-shirt he wore was tight fitting, and it was too bad Arthur couldn’t just sit and appreciate it.

“But you may be able to help me out,” the man continued. He offered a smile, and when he put a hand on his hip, Arthur noticed the large gold rings on a few of his fingers.

“Sure,” Arthur said, throat a little dry. He cleared it. “How can I assist you?”

“You see, my phone’s dead and I’m not from ‘round here. I was wondering if you could kindly point me towards the nearest hotel.”

Arthur nodded. “If you go down a little ways here on Main, it’s on the left. Called the DeSoto House.” Arthur jabbed a thumb in the general direction. “A bit expensive, but I hear it’s nice.”

The man tipped his head. “Thank you very much.” He held out a hand and motioned at the store. “Nice place you got here.” Then he was stepping towards the door.

Arthur waiting silently until the man was gone. As soon as he was, Arthur felt his body deflate with a sigh, heart finally calming. That was very strange indeed. This was the first time he had ever felt in danger here.

After he locked up and shut off the lights, Arthur decided to order a pizza instead. He didn’t want to go outside. He was thankful that he lived in the space above his store. Higher ground felt good, like a vantage point if he needed one. The curtains remained drawn. Only a few lamps glowed around the loft.

Despite trying to clear his thoughts with television and late night reading, Arthur couldn’t help but think about the man who visited. He hadn’t just been afraid of him. There was a part of himself he’d probably never be able to get rid of: his attraction to what was bad for him.

When he finally managed to sleep, he dreamed of his old home. He was running, or trying to, through a dying corn field next to the woods. Behind him was something quick and dark, a looming, ever changing shape. When he tripped and fell into the dirt, he landed on a rattlesnake. The sudden bite of it woke him with a start, his breathing hard. Arthur rubbed at his eyes, ears ringing in the complete silence of his room.

* * *

The next week was normal. Every day Arthur opened the store expecting to be visited again by the stranger. But nothing out of the ordinary happened. All was back to how it was, and for a little while Arthur began to believe that maybe he had made up the whole thing. He did always have a pretty active imagination.

On Friday he closed early so that he could do some drawing. He wanted time for himself, to practice his hobby in the quiet of the store’s backroom. It was meant to be an office space but it was the perfect size to set up a large sketch pad and just draw.

He ended up penciling a rickety cabin beside a lake. Something peaceful surrounded by tall trees. There was a rabbit next to the shore and a warbler on the roof. Arthur started to put a figure on the porch, a faceless man leaning against the wooden railing, his hat tipped low and a cigarette between his lips.

For a moment, Arthur stared at his drawing. Abruptly, the image didn’t appear quite so innocent and serene. It filled with tension and uneasiness. The dark shadows he had made seemed ominous, as if faces were hiding in them.

Arthur folded the pad closed. He wasn’t in the mood for any more drawing. This entire week he had barely left his home. Maybe it was time to try. But he didn’t want to try alone.

He called Charles, his closest friend he had made upon arriving here. The man lived out on Stagecoach Trail and it was a quick drive into town. Charles was in and had no plans, so he agreed to meet Arthur at Paradise Bar.

The place was pretty packed and Arthur didn’t mind. He saw a lot of familiar people, ones that lived in town. A couple spots opened up at the bar just as they were looking, and Arthur led the way. Two beers were placed in front of them.

“It’s been a while,” Charles said. He clinked his glass into Arthur’s. “A few weeks, right?”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Arthur said. “I’ve just been keeping to myself recently. Don’t know why exactly.”

Charles smiled. “It’s fine, Arthur. We all need to be alone at times. And some of us need longer than others.”

Arthur agreed. But now that it was the start of summer, he felt like doing more. Well… that was before the stranger showed up. The encounter had left him agitated with a desire to be apart from anyone he knew. This was the first time since then that he felt comfortable being out.

“You don’t know how true those words are,” Arthur murmured over the rim of his glass. He took a long drink before setting it back down. “My mind’s been miles away. Can’t even focus on drawing.”

“Did something happen?” Charles asked.

Arthur rubbed at his prickly chin. He needed to shave soon. “I don’t know. Maybe it was nothin’. Just my old ghosts trying to get at me. Probably.”

Charles looked at him, eyes full of concern. “You sure?”

Arthur did not want to involve Charles in this. It was most likely nothing, anyway. Stranger things had happened to him. A random run in with an out of town man meant very little. Except Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about the gun the man had clearly had on him. Not to mention that snake in his dream. Arthur was by no means religious, but a small part of him prayed for all of this to stop.

“I’m sure,” Arthur said with a smile. He held up his glass and gave Charles a wink. “So why don’t you tell me about what’s been goin’ on with you? Anything interesting?”

Charles had a few events to retell, and it helped Arthur forget his agitation for a moment. His friend even got him to laugh. It was nice, just the two of them chatting and drinking in an almost too warm bar on the weekend. It turned even better when Charles bought him a few shots.

Arthur was feeling the pleasant lull of alcohol as he excused himself to the bathroom. He made his way to the back of the bar and reached for the men’s room door. As he did, it pushed in without him touching it. In the yellow light of the doorway stood a man.

“Excuse me, friend,” he said as he brushed past Arthur.

The words hit Arthur like a punch in the jaw. He knew that voice. The sound of it was still fresh in his mind ever since he had first heard it. Arthur tried to turn around, a bit shaky. He leaned into the wall and squinted at the man’s back.

Black hair with curly ends and a slim back narrowing into an even slimmer waist. And a baseball cap. Arthur felt both sober and drunk. He dug his fingernails into the wall as he watched the man walk to the other side of the bar before leaving.

So he was still in town.

Arthur threw himself into the bathroom. He wrenched on the tap of the sink and the chill of the water hit his face like ice.

Maybe he hadn’t actually seen anything. Maybe that wasn’t the same man. Arthur tried to trick his brain, but his body wouldn’t be fooled.

Arthur barely made it to a toilet, beer and whiskey coming back up in a rush.


	2. Visit

The street lights came on after the sunset’s glow was just starting to fade. Arthur had had a good day, despite being distracted. Antsy. The weekend still weighed heavy in his mind. And for what reason? Arthur couldn’t figure it out, only that there was some gut feeling he had that things just weren’t right, weren’t _safe_ anymore.

Arthur walked to the store entrance, ready to finish up for the night. He flipped his hanging sign from open to closed. As he fingered the lock, a figure stepped in front of the glass door, throwing him in shadow. Arthur blinked, thinking he was probably imagining things.

But he wasn’t.

It was the man from before, the bill of his baseball cap pulled low. Arthur didn’t need to see his whole face to know who it was, though. The mustache gave that away.

Arthur knew he only had two options. Lock the door and run, or let the man in.

It felt like an eternity passed as Arthur stood there with his hand on the handle. As he stared out the door, he saw the man’s head raise. And then Arthur was looking into a pair of dark eyes full of desperation. Something Arthur knew all too well.

Shaking, he pushed down on the handle. The door opened and Arthur had to take a step back as the man strode inside.

“Do you mind locking that?” the man asked, voice strained.

Arthur’s hands were cold, numb almost, but he managed to lock the door. He really needed to get a grip on himself. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and turned around, hoping his features were schooled enough to hide his anxiety.

“So, mister, how about you tell me what this is all about.” Arthur watched the man get close to the windows, and he was watching out it the same way he had done the first time. Arthur cleared his throat. “Actually, we can start with your name.”

“Dutch,” the man said. He looked at Arthur. “Dutch van der Linde. Can we talk in the back room?” His eyes scanned the windows once more, jaw set firm.

Arthur sighed. “All right.” Dutch followed him to the somewhat messy space. Then they were alone in the small area, and Arthur had completely forgotten about his sketch he had tried to resume earlier that day. The cabin by the lake. Arthur still got bad vibes from it.

Dutch looked at the sketch pad propped up on an easel. For a moment, all Arthur could hear was his own breathing.

Dutch hummed. “That’s a mighty fine drawin’.” He glanced at Arthur. “Did you make it?”

Arthur nodded. He didn’t trust his voice in those seconds, otherwise he would have said thanks.

Dutch finally dropped away from his examination and stared at Arthur. He had his thumbs hooked in his front pockets, and seemed far too casual for this bizarre situation.

“Arthur Morgan, is it?” Dutch asked. Though it didn’t sound like a question.

Arthur knew that finding out his name probably wasn’t the hardest thing to do. Not since he was a business owner and _lived_ above said business. Yet, it still caused his skin to break out in goosebumps.

“Depends on who’s askin’.” Arthur was aware how he sounded: like some big shot trying to one up the other man. But Arthur had used the same line in the past under worse circumstances.

Dutch’s face cracked into a smile, eyes squinting. It was… surprisingly nice. Endearing, almost. There was a warmth there that calmed Arthur.

Arthur’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Sorry,” he drawled. “I just… ain’t used to this whole city living I guess. Forget my manners sometimes.” Now he felt a fool.

Dutch waved a hand, his rings catching the bright overhead light and sparkling gold. “Don’t mention it. I, too, would have my insecurities if a stranger suddenly came into my place like this.” Dutch’s smile widened. “But I don’t think I’d be as accepting as you are.”

Arthur swallowed, throat feeling thick. His eyes were dry but he refused to blink. “That so?” he muttered.

Dutch gave a rough laugh, and it was pleasant. “You’re a fine man, Arthur, and I barely know you.”

“About that,” Arthur started.

Again, Dutch raised a hand. “Yes, about that.” Once again his face was serious. “You see, there’s someone out there who’s not so pleased with me right now.”

Arthur tilted his head. “Out there? You mean in town?”

Dutch swept his hand forward. “Here, now, yes. The day I arrived I came inside your shop. Why? Because you looked like a man I could trust.”

A wave of amusement hit Arthur. He looked trustworthy to a stranger? That was an odd compliment, but Arthur liked it nonetheless. Before he had a chance to respond, Dutch was talking again.

“You knew I was carrying a gun, too.” Dutch patted his thigh. “Just like I knew you had one under that counter out there.”

A fizzle of tension. Arthur’s heart missed a beat and tried to make up for it. “I don’t-”

“No need to explain yourself,” Dutch interrupted. He was smiling again, and this time it was teasing. “We all have our past demons that will never truly leave us alone.”

Arthur was connecting the dots, starting to understand this man. He licked his lips. “And some of are still running from them.”

Dutch set a heavy hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Exactly.”

* * *

Arthur gave Dutch a bottle of root beer he had in the mini fridge, and grabbed one for himself. He twisted off the cap and threw it in the nearby trash can.

The vanilla sweetness helped. Arthur had taken a liking to the drink when he first arrived, and since then it was a staple. It was also convenient that there was a store a little ways down that sold all sorts of different brands. He’d been trying a new one each month.

He watched Dutch tip the bottle up and take a drink. The face he made when he was done was hilarious. Arthur choked on his laugh and had to beat his chest to stop coughing.

“This… ain’t beer,” Dutch said with a grimace.

“Well, it’s a type of beer, cept there’s no alcohol in it.” Arthur raised the bottle. “They do make ones with it, though. Sort of fond of them myself.”

Dutch stared at the label for a while, reading it over. He turned the bottle to the back, presumably scanning the ingredients. Arthur waited quietly.

“So, it’s sugar water,” Dutch said at last. “Like any other soda.”

Arthur grinned. “Yeah, but it has vanilla in it, and that makes it that much better.”

Dutch gave the bottle one last look before he shrugged and drank from it again.

Arthur tapped his fingers on the dark glass. He leaned against the small table covered in pencils and erasers, bits of paper and an electric sharpener. He wanted to ask Dutch his story, but didn’t know how to start.

Thankfully, Dutch was a good initiator. He also appeared to like to talk about himself.

“Now, the other reason why I’m here,” Dutch started. He stood against the wall opposite Arthur, one leg casually crossed over the other. “Simply put, I was followed.”

“By the law?” Arthur tried, dreading the answer.

Dutch shook his head. “No. Someone far worse than the law. A son of a bitch who I made the mistake of getting revenge on.” Dutch’s face twisted with his anger. He was gripping the neck of his bottle tight. “I thought it was done, that I had won. But how wrong I was. So I came up here looking for a man who was once like a son to me.” Dutch’s expression suddenly softened. He looked at Arthur. “I know he’s here in Illinois, but I don’t know where exactly. I need him very much right now.” A quick breath. “When he left, there were no traces, no trail to follow.”

Arthur felt a tug inside his chest, an instinctual need to help. But Dutch was still talking.

“I don’t want to bore you with a hundred details. But just know this: the man I’m running from is a snake and a murderer. He killed my partner and covered it up, made it look like an accident. And once I found out, I thought I scared that bastard good before leaving.” Dutch took a drink. “Blinding him in one eye weren’t enough, I guess.”

The silence of the room rang in Arthur’s ears. The sane part of him that had already moved on from his past told him that this whole situation was a very bad idea, and he best tell Dutch right now that he had no business with him. That Arthur was a good listener and shoulder to cry on but he was _not_ going to help Dutch capture or kill a man. It just wasn’t the thing he needed to sign up for right now. Not _ever_.

And then there was that other part of him, the part that was very much filled with desire for a difficult fight. It hadn’t been too long ago that he’d been throwing his fists and aiming a gun. Not much had come of it, though. Only it had kindled the flames that had been raging ever since he was young. Arthur chewed on his lip, eyes blurring as he stared at the floor. What would that fire feel like, completely unleashed again? Surely it would burn him. He’d never get used to the quiet life. He just wasn’t made for it.

Arthur sighed, low and heavy. He met Dutch’s eyes. “Does these two fellers have names? The one you’re lookin’ for and the other who’s after you?”

Dutch was smiling again. And this time it had a touch of malice. “John Marston and Micah Bell.”

* * *

The burgers from Gobbie’s were amazing, but the beer nuggets were even better. Arthur watched in fascination as Dutch ate most of them, popping the bits of soft, salty bread into his mouth one after another, humming in delight at the taste.

Arthur ate slowly, trying not to watch Dutch too closely. They sat outside in the restaurant’s beer garden where they could smoke cigarettes. Arthur didn’t do it often, but found out that Dutch liked it a lot, though the man enjoyed cigars more, or so he said. The weather wasn’t bad, not too stuffy, and only a few mosquitoes trying to bug them.

They had proper drinks this time. Two pints, a pale ale for Arthur and a stout for Dutch. Both were specialties made by the brewery just up the road. It was amiable. Well… as agreeable as it could be when the topic of conversation wasn’t exactly of the savory sort.

Arthur was feeling full and sleepy. He laid his arms on the table and watched Dutch put out the last of his cigarette in the ashtray.

“I’m real sorry about not knowing those men,” Arthur said. He _did_ feel bad, though what were the chances he’d actually know them?

Dutch adjusted his cap. “Don’t be sorry. I wasn’t expecting to find Marston that easy. And Micah… he’s from Texas, like me. Of course no one around here has heard of him.”

Arthur scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Still, I intend to help you if I can.”

Dutch’s smile was easy. “That’s very kind of you, son. But just know that it’s some bad business.”

Arthur finished off his drink, the alcohol pushing light through his veins. “I can handle myself just fine.”

“I’m sure you can.”

They held each other’s gaze. The low rock music from inside the bar spilled out in a burst as a few more people headed into the garden before once again becoming muffled. There was talk all around them, too low to make out exact words, and the hum of car engines in the street close by. Arthur finally broke the stare and looked up, able to identify a few constellations.

Back home he had been able to lay out in the fields and find them all, watch them move as the seasons changed. Here was a little different. The sky didn’t feel so big and open, but it was still clear. City, civilization, commotion. Though not quite too much of it that it was overbearing. Yet, it was all new to him, even after a whole year.

Deep down Arthur knew this whole involvement could end poorly. But maybe that forever ruined part of him was looking for just that. A chance to get pulled into something dangerous. A log thrown on his internal fire. Plus, he wanted to learn a little bit more about Dutch. The man was… fascinating.


	3. Plan A

“You know a lot about this town?” Dutch asked.

They were walking the crowded Main Street, wasting a bit of time while Dutch could ‘come up with a plan’ or so he had explained it.

“I’d like to think I do,” Arthur answered. “But this area has a lot of history. Too much to learn in just one year.”

They stopped in front of Rustic Rive. Dutch looked at some jewelry that was on display behind the window. Arthur didn’t much care for sparkly adornments. Seemed Dutch did, though.

“I just don’t get why John came all the way up here,” Dutch said to the window. Arthur had to shuffle closer, move out of the way of a large group of people trying to squeeze past them. “He hates snow.”

“Don’t we all,” Arthur muttered. He turned to look out across the street, squinting against the sun. It was another cloudless day and the temperature was already rising as the morning fell into afternoon.

Arthur probably wouldn’t have paid it much attention but not very often here do you see a grown man wearing a proper cowboy hat. Arthur had left his own behind when he had moved from Oklahoma. The man wearing the large white hat had dirty blond hair that went to his shoulders. And then Arthur noticed two other men, each wearing their own cutter style hats.

It made Arthur miss his own. Why hadn’t he brought it? Surely he wouldn’t have seemed _that_ out of place wearing it. Arthur frowned as he watched the three men walk in their direction. He had a few different caps back in the loft that he sometimes wore, but lately he preferred going hatless. Though what he did need to get was some new sunglasses. He had lost his only pair the last time he’d went fishing.

“Arthur?” Dutch was saying his name. And then Dutch was looking, too. “Shit,” was the hissed curse. “We need to go. Now.”

“Hm?” Arthur eyed Dutch. Then he was being pulled by the arm down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Micah and his boys,” Dutch grit out. He weaved them through other people, and Arthur apologized along the way for bumping into them. “How the hell do they keep finding me?”

“Maybe you’re predictable,” Arthur said, meaning it as a joke. Dutch gave a hard tug to his arm, and he was dragged into the Great American Popcorn Company as a woman was coming out. She held the door for them, and Arthur told her thanks.

Inside was cool, and the buttery smell of popcorn mixed with sugar of caramel and other candy. Arthur shook himself free of Dutch’s hold and began to sidestep children as he looked at the bags of popcorn on display. He could really go for some cinnamon toast popcorn right about now. Then again, English toffee was also tempting. Arthur was hit with a craving for some maple and bacon.

Dutch pressed into his side, and when Arthur glanced at the man, his face was scrunched in disgust. He followed the look and saw that Dutch was aiming a stink eye at two kids who were filling up on an assortment of jellybeans.

“You, uh, all right?” Arthur asked.

“No, I sure am not.” Dutch turned, scowling. “Not only do I have Micah on my ass, I have a bunch of brats as well.”

Arthur clicked his tongue. He picked up a bag of cheddar popcorn and checked the price. He set it back down. “Pretty sure the kids are the least of your worries right now.”

Dutch said nothing, brows pushed down hard. He looked like a very stern and displeased father. Arthur wondered how old he was. Dutch couldn’t have had many years on him.

The man behind the counter held up a scoop of freshly made popcorn and called out, telling people to try some. Arthur stepped from Dutch, moving in with a few children and a pair of teens. Arthur accepted the handful of hot, sugary popcorn. He tossed it into his mouth. It was dark chocolate, and Arthur found himself licking the remnants off his fingers.

Dutch was at his side again but this time he wasn’t as close. “You want some?” Arthur asked. “They’re real generous with the samples here.”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” Arthur went back to scanning the selection of popcorn. “This ain’t good for you, is it? Bell being probably not even fifty feet from us.”

Dutch kept his back to the windows, though it was hard to see out of them anyway what with them being filled with display items. “Of course it isn’t _good_ , Arthur.”

“What, you think he’d try to kill you right here in front of a bunch of people?” Arthur looked around the shop. “In front of _kids_?”

Dutch sighed. He rubbed at his temples. “No, of course not. He’d be arrested on the spot. But Micah has his ways. He always has. And those two men with him, they’d been ever loyal dogs ever since I managed to blind their master.”

Arthur was really starting to wonder how this feud had been going on without any outside force stepping in. Then he remembered his own youth, how in a town of only a thousand people in the sleepy south it was all too easy to get into quiet fights that were shrugged off as boys learning how to be men. No one had even bothered to ask where the wounds came from. Maybe they knew and maybe they just didn’t care.

It couldn’t have been that long, but Dutch was getting even more restless. As Arthur moved around the little shop, Dutch stuck to him. It was a bit cute, and also a tad annoying. He and Dutch weren’t small men; they had wide shoulders and somewhat above average height. There was constant contact with other people, mainly children, and Arthur didn’t really mind. All the shops on Main Street were dinky, including his own. He wasn’t one who exactly had a personal bubble.

Dutch on the other hand…The man looked about ready to snap. Arthur was worried he’d let loose on some poor, unsuspecting six year old. Arthur, as quickly as he could, bought a bag of old fashioned caramel corn and showed Dutch back outside.

They both scoured the streets thoroughly. There was no sign of Micah and his boys, though Dutch was clearly anxious, and he tugged his cap down a little more.

“Do you know much about guns, Arthur?” he asked as they started to make their way to Arthur’s place.

“Can’t say so. I prefer using fists, myself.” Arthur didn’t know if he liked this conversation. It was bringing up distasteful memories. “I’ve had no desire to kill a man, if that’s why you’re implying.” Arthur kept his voice down, not wanting to bring attention to them.

Dutch laughed, something a bit more relaxed than his appearance would suggest. “You can off someone with your bare hands just fine… not that _I’ve_ done it. But of course it _can_ be done.”

Arthur knew this. He was pretty sure most everyone knew this. He stayed quiet.

“I’d just feel better if I was able to find John. That man knows how to shoot a gun, better than I ever could and I was the one…” Dutch cut himself off. “Well, I’ll leave that for another time.”

Surely, Arthur thought, Dutch was being transparent. Arthur wasn’t stupid. He had already been told of Dutch’s raising of John, how he was like a son. Something must have happened between them and Arthur had a strong suspicion that it involved weapons.

“Finding him won’t be easy,” Arthur said. He bumped into Dutch as line of people spilled out from a restaurant, taking up most of the sidewalk.

“I know that.” Dutch sighed, deep and low. “Thing is, I don’t have a car. And my money isn’t exactly plentiful right now. Just getting up here was the hardest thing I’ve done in a long time.

“Well, I’ve only got an old truck,” Arthur admitted. “Least she stills runs fine.” They were nearing Cowpoke. Arthur used his free hand not holding his popcorn to dig into his pocket for his keys. “Fuel has been cheaper too, for once.” Arthur was rambling but he knew he was playing the good man. A role he had always wanted, even from a young age, despite all the negative treatment he’d received, all the scuffles and beatings.

A pleaser, Mary had called him. Someone who tried everything he knew and then some to make things right. But things had never _gone_ right. Not until he moved up here. Though his year of quiet seemed to have come to an end with Dutch’s arrival.

Dutch watched around again as Arthur unlocked the door.

Inside he set his purchase on the counter. Dutch was giving him a look, sliding his eyes to the door. Arthur understood and he relocked it with a nod.

“So,” Arthur started. He set himself on the stool and broke open the seal on the popcorn, not able to resist anymore. “To what lengths have you gone to find Mr. Marston?”

Dutch moved away from the store front. He leaned his back against the counter, arms crossed. “If you mean have I tried an internet search, then yes. Different things come up, people with the same name, but none of them are the right one.” Dutch took out his phone and held it up.

Arthur looked at the battered flip phone. He tossed a few pieces of the popcorn into his mouth and talked as he chewed. “Ever heard of upgrading?”

Dutch rolled his eyes and shoved the phone away. “Do I look like I have seven hundred dollars and then some to spend on a damn phone?”

Arthur shrugged. “Well, what’s your occupation? Before you starting running.” The air went heavy, and Arthur realized that he may have tried to dig in a sore spot. “Never mind,” he mumbled and continued to eat, keeping his eyes on the counter top.

After a moment, Dutch spoke. “I worked with cattle. Nothing special. It made me enough to live and that’s all that matters.”

Arthur nodded. It was a good enough answer. For now. He had a feeling that pushing Dutch wouldn’t end well.

After wiping his sticky fingers on his jeans, Arthur took out his own phone. “Is there any other names we could try lookin’ up?” he asked.

Dutch turned and rested his elbows on the counter. “I’ve tried searching his wife’s name, but that got me nothing.” Dutch appeared to be thinking. “Though there is something I never did give a shot. Jim Milton.”

Arthur typed in the name. One hit came up, and the link took him to the white pages. Arthur read his findings out. “One Jim Milton. Got his phone number here and his address.”

“You serious?” Dutch leaned over, trying to see the new information on the screen. “Where’s it say he lives?”

Arthur held up the phone with a teasing smile. “ _John_ street, if you can believe it. In Steward. That’s Lee County. Bout a two hour drive southeast, I’d say.”

“I’m going to try to call the number.” Dutch dialed it into his own phone.

They both waited. Arthur was able to hear the faint ringing. It rang and rang, and after the sixteenth time, Dutch snapped his phone closed.

“What kind of asshole doesn’t have an answering machine,” he grumbled. Then he sighed. “Well, at least we know where he lives.”

“If that _is_ him,” Arthur said. “Are you for sure that this is your guy?”

Dutch stared at Arthur, and for the first time, Arthur was able to tell that Dutch’s eyes were a dark blue, not the brown he had first thought. They were filled with a storm that wasn’t going to pass quickly.

“I’m sure,” Dutch said, and tapped a thick finger to the counter. A moment passed before he seemed to relax. “It’ll be good for us to go out there. Get away from Galena for a while, hopefully throw Micah off the trail.”

Arthur rubbed at his chin. “I can’t exactly leave my business closed for more than a couple days.”

“Well a couple days is all we’re going to need.” Dutch spread his palms out, rings clicking on the counter. “Maybe even just one. I’m a hell of a negotiator.”

Maybe he was, Arthur thought. Dutch had somehow convinced him to get in on this whole thing, with very minimal effort. Then again, Arthur didn’t know just how much of that was of his own volition.

Arthur asked, “You want to head out tomorrow?”

Dutch nodded. “Soon as we can. It’s Sunday, so I doubt he’ll be at work.”

There was a look about Dutch’s face that Arthur couldn’t place. A mix of determination and something else, something just a little sinister. When Dutch finally pushed himself to a full stand, he said his goodbyes and Arthur let him out the door.

For a long while Arthur stood behind the counter, wondering if he should bring his pistol.


End file.
